Parallel Thought - Life s**s lyrics

[Intro: Del the Funky h*mosapien] Man let me get some sh** up off my chest You know stress is the number one k**er of black men So Imma take off my coat so I can get up outta here With a fresh coat of paint ya dig? Some body work, it's gon' be like I just came out the auto detail shop That's right, ride out, leave all this bird sh** for the bird brains I know you guys know the feeling cuz It's funky out here right about now for real homie Just was five murders out here in Oakland over the weekend In a 24 hour period [Verse 1: Del the Funky h*mosapien] Hey, I'm sick of n***as, I'm sick of coons I'm sick of tunes, half-written every rap they have is bitten Sick of complaints, sick of movements that don't be moving Another name for [?] it's an illusion Sick of hoes shamming they hoe programming Via emotional warfare, acquisition through s** Sick of checking broads that be snitching to get you vexed Sick of painstakingly taking the night out of a twist Sick of holding back on n***as I don't even know how I resist Sick of bourgeois politics Sick of trying to keep up with where all my dollars went Sick in the head, I'm sick of all of this But I ain't calling it quits I just spit a sick flow that clip close Like a sickle through a fields of weeds You feel you're elite? You is weak Don't even know that the root is the street And you other rappers [?] stupid to me With the same con and misinformed fans Wanna place the blame on everybody eatin' Money ain't the root of evil fool you need it It's just power and the individual And how he choose to treat it [Hook: Tame One] Life s**s, reality blows, responsibility is k**in' me All I wanna to do is rock and do shows A lotta hoes think they sh** don't stink But as long as [?] drinking this pink, we gon' link (x2) [Verse 2: Tame One] How is you not knowin' about my spot blowin' You critics can get the dick like my bu*ton fly popped open I'm hopin' you choke f*ggot and your man be next, gay Feeling some kind of way without a gag reflex, hey! Follow up and swallow everything I got you to taste I'm high as you are, fubar like the bottle was laced I'm going in like it's a curfew to murk you and half your circle All I want is a blunt and a bag of purple Cuz when I lift the piff to my lips to take a hit It's like f** you as I cause ruffles like the potato chip It's the way I say my sh**, setting me apart from others No feelings, I get biz, cold chillin' like Warner Brothers So what part of the game is this? This ain't a rap this a tape to diss, in fact you's a gansta b**h You's a bag with a rag needing a pad, cuz of your flow That bullsh**'ll just get you snuck at the show You ain't been felt since the balls under your pop spilt Not built for that sh**, we can both spit but I k**ed that sh** And I feel this sh**, I dealt with it, now you felt it, sh** [Hook]